


And Look How Far We've Come, My Dear

by the_ever_fading_forest



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ever_fading_forest/pseuds/the_ever_fading_forest
Summary: "Natalia began to walk slowly down the stairs of the fire escape, keeping her guns trained on him the whole time." Clint and Natasha meet as teenagers. Set long before the first Avengers film at the start, but will lead up to Natasha joining SHIELD and maybe to the events of Avengers: Assemble. Another STRIKE TEAM:Delta origin story.





	1. Chapter One-Berlin

She could still remember the first time they met, over half a lifetime ago, those two scarred teenagers, far too young to hold the weapons they wielded and to wear the haunted expressions they could never run away from.

She was still Natalia then, to everyone but him, and must have been fourteen years old. A child, still blinkered by the ideals pressed upon her, and all the other girls in the Red Room, by angry men and cold soldiers. It was roughly three years before she inherited the Black Widow's title, on a fairly routine training mission. Nothing special. And it still managed to go to shit, spectacularly, after barely four hours.

It began in a dark, dank alleyway, outside of a large, notorious casino in Berlin. Mid October. Fucking freezing. Crouching on a fire escape, three stories up, she sighted her target, exactly as she had been told she would.

The German businessman stood by the left wall, opposite her, and removed his phone from his jacket pocket. Natalia was too far away to see the screen, and the prickling feeling at the back of her neck didn't get her attention fast enough, as she suddenly found herself pinned to the wall by a huge hand at her throat. She struggled to reach her fallen hand guns, the scoped sniper rifle well out of reach. She could feel her vision begin to blur around the edges. The man trapping her was well over twice her size and his hold was starting to constrict her airways. So it was, understandably, quite a shock when he collapsed to the ground, failing over the railings and landing with a thud that would probably been sickening to any one who hadn't heard it all a thousand times before.

Instinct battled her surprise, and Natalia quickly recovered her hand guns, noting that the rifle was broken, presumably by the man who now lay dead from his fall. Or from the arrow protruding from his skull.

Natalia held her Glock pistols out in front of her, searching for the archer. He was stood below her, holding his bow, loaded, with a level of skill that was disturbing in a boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. He called out in clumsy German, staring right at her;

“Are there any more?” 

She looked back at him, never lowering her weapons. She had the advantage of height, but he'd already shown what he could do with that bow.

“I did not ask for your help.” She could tell from his accent he was American, and his German was awful, so she spoke in English. 

“Yeah, but you needed it, didn't you?” The boy was fairly skinny, quite short, and had messy dark-blonde hair. Natalia mentally shook her head. Stop it, you don't make them human. He is a heart and a brain. Take your pick, girl, he dies wherever you aim.

He was talking again.

“Come on, you could at least say thank you! I just saved your life!” Christ, did he have a death wish? Was that it? She should shoot him now, as she had been trained to do.

But now there was a little voice in the back of her head, telling her that this boy was hardly older than her, and he had, quite possibly just saved her life. Jesus, was that her conscience?! Where the fuck had that come from? She hadn't known she'd had one, and anyway, she'd dispatched children younger than herself before. Why did she suddenly care about it?

You used to care, the voice piped up, as the boy was saying something about beautiful, ungrateful girls with scary guns not having any manners. Natalia firmly told the voice to fuck off and considered saying the same thing to the archer standing down on the ground, before he interrupted her thoughts. 

“Hey, you know you're bleeding, right?” She hadn't actually noticed the shoulder wound wound until he said that, but she did now, and, god, it hurt like a bitch. The blood, an alarming amount of it, was dribbling down her hooded sweatshirt, soaking it. Natalia began to walk slowly down the stairs of the fire escape, keeping her guns trained on him the whole time. To her surprise, the boy lowered his bow to the ground and raised his hands above his head. She stared at him. Was this kid suicidal or something?

“Will you let me help you?” Okay. That was unexpected. Not to mention weird.

“Why would I do that?” She enquired, the throbbing pain in her shoulder starting to increase with the effort of holding her hand gun up.

“Because, if you don't, you're probably going to bleed out where you stand.” He replied, simply.

Crap.

He had a point. She waved the guns at him.

“I'm not lowering these.” Not an invitation, but not a rejection either. He gave her a goofy grin.

“I'm not asking you to.” He walked over to her, sliding his backpack off of his shoulders. Natalia backed up, eyes widening. The boy chuckled.

“Easy, sweetheart,” She glared at him, which only made him smile. “It's a medical kit, calm down.”  
He put down the backpack and pulled out a plastic box. 

“See? No weapons, just bandages. Do you mind sitting down? It'd probably be more comfortable.” Reluctantly, Natalia did as he asked, removing her hoodie and sitting with her back against the wall of the casino. The wound was in her right shoulder. The gun in her left hand rested on her knee, pointed at him. For some reason, this made him smile again, as he knelt beside her, removing stuff from the kit. He carefully cut away the blood-soaked material of her t-shirt and put pressure on the cut, causing her to draw in a breath, gritting her teeth. Her glanced at her and she almost had to look away, because the sympathy on his face was so unfamiliar.

“Sorry. As far as I can see, it's not awful, but you'd have been in trouble if you'd left it much longer. Knife wound, clean cut, lot's of blood, not terrible damage.”

“Expert, are you?”

“Something like that,” He shrugged. “ I've had the same thing, at least. It's best if I stitch this up, are you okay with that?” She grimaced, but nodded, wanting to shut her eyes tight. Not because of the pain. He had that sympathetic expression again.

“Do it.” He nodded, already getting a needle out of the package that kept it sterile. Natalia watched as he threaded it with an expert hand and brought it up to her shoulder.

“This is gonna hurt.” She just rolled her eyes at him, impatiently.

“I know, get on with it.” She wanted to cry out when the needle went in the first time and had lost track by the fifth, but could still hear soft words from the boy next to her. 

She wished they weren't so comforting.

“Okay, you're good, that should hold it all together.” He said, carefully bandaging the newly-stitched wound. He tried to help her back into her hoodie, but she shook him off, protesting crossly; “I'm fine.” He chuckled again, putting the medical kit back into his backpack and standing up. 

“Right, you're fine, I get it, jeez, “ he paused as she pulled herself to her feet, awkwardly. “What's your name? Natalia shot him an incredulous look, one that clearly said: “What the fuck are you on?” He let out a small huff of a laugh. 

“Okay, then, what can I call you?” She hesitated for a moment, before answering with one of her favourite names of the ones she used on missions.

“Natasha. You can call me Natasha.” He grinned again, the smile far too big for his face.

“I'm Clint Barton. Why are you here?” She glared at him.

“You need to learn to shut up.” She told him, looking over at the man he shot with the bow.

“And you need to learn some manners.” The boy-Clint-retorted, following her gaze. “I killed the other guy as well, by the way.” he added, softly, as he retrieved his bow. This puzzled her, slightly.

“Why?” He shrugged.

“I'm kind of a bow-for-hire. He was my mission.” Natalia stared at him.

“Mine, too.” Clint nodded, slinging his bag back on.

“You know why he was supposed to die?” She shook her head. “ Nah, me neither. Anyway,” he turned to face her, “ I guess I should be going.” She nodded, her check-in time was coming up.

“Yeah, me too.” She paused, momentarily. “Um, thank you, I guess, Clint.” He grinned again.

“You're welcome, Natasha. Thank you for not shooting me.” She gave him a faint smile, a real one and he held out a hand. After a moment, Natalia holstered one gun an shook it. 

“Maybe I'll see you again.” He said, as she let go.

“I shouldn't think so,” She replied. He smiled ruefully and slung his bow over one shoulder.

They walked to the entrance of the alleyway together, stopping a few paces short of the pavement.

“Well,” Clint looked over at her, “Goodbye, Natasha.” She nodded

“Yeah, goodbye, Clint.” He gave her one last smile, before they went their separate ways, each resisting the urge to look back and watch the other walk away.


	2. Chapter Two-Sao Paulo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's the second chapter of this story for you guys. I actually have the first six chapters written up, so I'll be posting about once a week while I'm writing the next ones. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please feel free to let me know what you think-AR

Although the boy with the bow haunted her dreams for the weeks after the mission in Germany, she hardly thought of him afterwards, as the cruel world of the Red Room pulled her back in. 

He was there, though. In the back of her mind, blue eyed and smiling.

But, almost seven years later, as a now twenty-year-old Natalia, the new Black Widow, walked away from the burning hospital, with red curling to the dark sky and staining her overflowing ledger, his face came to the forefront of her mind. The American archer, the teenaged witness she hadn't killed, over half a decade ago. And, while the screaming fire engine rushed to the flaming building, she wondered where he was now. 

Probably dead, to be honest. Or in prison.

She sighed and began to make her way through the shadowed back streets of the city, her hand never leaving the holstered Glock. 45, the same type, she remembered, as she'd aimed at him.

The arranged meeting point was situated in the worst part of the city, filled with the people who had sunk to the very lowest, dropped off the map, or simply been born there and failed to escape. She was used to places like this, to people like these. The after-kill check-ins were always in places like this one, so she had no reason to think this one was going to be any different from the others. 

Not until she heard the shouting. Then the dull 'thunk' of bullets burying themselves in bodies. 

No. Not bullets. 

Arrows.

As she moved closer to the sounds, Natalia could feel her heart rate speed up, her feet following suit and carrying her to the entrance of the alleyway where, on the damp, rain-soaked gravel, lay a man she recognised as a Red Room asset. Four metres ahead, there were three more. Each one with a single arrow buried in one eye socket. Each one with the same surprised expression, as if they couldn't quite comprehend what had happened to them. 

Her guns were already up, her eyes already searching the alleyway, looking for the archer and praying to whatever gods might be out there that it wasn't her archer. Clint. Because she wouldn't be able to let him get away again.

A slight movement on the shadowed roof of the condemned apartment building to her left alerted her to the archer's hiding place. Both guns were aimed at it in seconds, her heart beating so loudly that it was a wonder the rooftop killer didn't hear it, to. 

“Black Widow!” The voice was deep, a man’s, which subsequently lowered the chances of it not being him by far too much. And what kind of idiot called out his mark's name when trying to do them in, anyway? A fucking stupid one, obviously, which lowered the chances even more. 

A thud to her left told her he had dropped to the ground. He'd given up his height advantage, just as she had done, six years before, walking the rain-slick steps of that Berlin fire escape. 

She turned to face him, finding herself at the business end of a loaded bow, with blue-grey eyes locked on to her own green ones.

Well, shit.   
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was taller, older, but that was to be expected. He must have been twenty-three or twenty-four, and she watched the eyes of the smiling sixteen-year-old widen as he, in turn, recognised her.

“Natasha?” She almost smiled, because, God, it'd been a while since anyone had called her that. She was hardly ever referred to as anything other than Black Widow anymore. 

With that one word, she was fourteen years old again, a bleeding shoulder and shorter hair, a broken   
rifle and a black hoodie. And him. He was broader as well as taller, his hair close-cropped, wearing dark uniform. They stared at each other, neither one lowering their weapons.

“You know,” He said, an expression of disbelief adorning his features, “We've really got to stop meeting like this.” She ignored this, fixing him with a sharp glare.

“You.” Natalia moved slightly closer and he shut up for a moment (Throw a party! It's a fucking miracle!) 

“You're the Black Widow?” She gave a cold look.

“Yes. And you're not a bow-for-hire anymore.”

“I'm supposed to kill you.” He said, and she noticed the string of his bow became less taunt.

“Well, you'd better get on with it, then. I haven't got all day.”

He looked at her, the boy with the bow, right in the eyes, and he let the arrow fall from the string, taking a step backwards. She stared at him, confused, even though her facial expressions gave nothing away.

“What are you doing?” He met her eyes with his again.

“I'm not going to kill you, Natasha. I can't kill you. You didn't choose this. You didn't choose any of this.” She shrugged.

“I didn't do anything much to stop it, either.” He went on as though she hadn't spoken.

“Before, you were what? Fourteen? The Red Room, they brainwashed you, right? All mind control and shit. You can't choose that.” The Red Room, she was surprised he'd even heard of it. Hardly anyone ever had. He was clearly in a very different place to the scruffy-haired, grubby-clothed Clint Barton she'd met in Germany.

“Who do you work for?” She asked, causing him to pause, but only momentarily. He seemed to come to a decision. 

“SHEILD. I work for SHEILD.” She raised her eyebrows, but gripped the guns tighter.

“SHEILD wants me dead.” It wasn't a question.

“A lot of people want you dead” Natalia rolled her eyes at him.

“Tell me something I don't know.” He hesitated again, his bow now attached to his belt before blurting out the last thing she'd expected.

“You could come with me.” 

“What?” 

“Come with me, switch sides. Join SHEILD. Leave them.” The poor boy actually looked serious.

“Are you fucking insane? Do you actually think SHEILD is just going to forget everything, all the dead agents, the screwed-up missions, and just accept me with open arms? The fucking Black Widow? Are you that naïve?”

“I can talk to them, persuade Coulson to put a good word in for you. Besides,” He added, with more than a hint of arrogant pride in his voice, “I'm one of their best agents, I've got some sway in there.” She raised her eyebrows again (they were going to stay like that if he didn't stop being an idiot) 

“Why should I trust you?” He just blinked at her. She almost smiled, “Go on, give me one good reason.” Natalia was expecting him to come out with something about that night, all those years ago. Instead, he opened his mouth and said the last thing she was expecting.

“I can't.”

“I'm sorry?”

“I can't,” He repeated, “So, I'm not asking you to trust me, I'm asking you to take a chance. An offer. I'm not guaranteeing anything, but I'll do everything I can to get them to take you.” There was a sort of heartfelt simplicity in his words that Natalia wasn't sure she'd ever heard someone use genuinely before. 

“Why?” She asked, now contemplating lowering her guns. He just shrugged.

“Because I was on your end of this, once, and Coulson, the guy who gave me this offer, he said that, if I was ever in a position to, I should do the same for someone else. So, here we are.”

“I doubt this was exactly what he had in mind,” she commented, drily, “You, recruiting the Black Widow.”

“Black Widow, whatever. I'm recruiting Natasha.” He offered her a goofy grin, the same one as his teenaged self, too big for his face. She swallowed.

“Only if you promise me one thing.” He nodded, eagerly.

“What?”

“The Red Room, they won't just let me leave, especially after..” She waved at the bodies he'd left around the alleyway,“If they come after me...” She trailed off, looking at him.

“You'll be protected.” He answered, firmly. “That, I can do.” His expression was serious now. “There's a SHIELD safe house a little way from here. I can contact my handler from there, and then...well, I'll talk to him” 

“God, that's so reassuring, Clint.” He grinned, his whole face lighting up.  
“Hey, you remembered my name!” She raised her eyebrows (again) and shot him a 'well, duh.' look.

“What did you expect?” 

“Um, I dunno.” He said, shrugging, and began to collect his arrows from the four dead men, pulling them from four eye sockets. Expertly. She watched him place them back into his quiver and begin walking out to the street. He turned, facing her.

“You coming?” Natalia hesitated for a moment, but even an uncertain truce with one assassin-turned-SHIELD-agent was better than the Red Room and what they'd do to her for even considering   
leaving them. 

So, she nodded, slowly, and caught up with Clint.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, welcome to chapter three!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this fanfiction, or anything to do with Marvel (shocker, right?).

 

“It's about a twenty minute walk,” Barton was saying, “On the outskirts.” Natalia nodded, walking a   
pace or two behind the young archer. The journey continued in silence and Natalia noticed that they were passing fewer and fewer houses as time went on. For the last five minutes, there were only a couple of small buildings at the roadside. Clint’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she saw that he had stopped.

“This is it.” He was gesturing at a small, two room house, more of a shack, really, that was positioned a fair way from the road. 

“This is your safe house?” She stared at him, incredulously. Clint just shrugged as he unlocked the door. 

“No need to sound so enthusiastic, Red,” She glared at him, but he either didn't see or chose to ignore it. “We don't get too many missions in San Paolo. After you.” He pushed the door open and moved aside in order for her to step in. Moving past him, Natalia looked around at what appeared to be a very utilitarian space, consisting of a stove, a fridge, a two-person table, one bookshelf, a couple of cupboards and a small double bed in one corner. A threadbare carpet covered most of the floor and a battered old sofa was stood in front of an ancient, clunky looking TV. Natalia noticed only one door, other than the front one. This, on closer inspection, lead to a tiny bathroom.

“Wow.” She commented, drily. He grinned (seriously, was this guy ever unhappy?).

“Yeah, you should see the one in Inverness.” At the questioning look she gave him, Clint elaborated. “I managed to really piss off the bosses..”

“God, I wonder how.” Natalia interrupted, not even attempting to hide her sarcasm. He mock-glared at her.

“Ha ha, anyway, as I was saying; I ended up spending four weeks freezing my nuts off in Scotland until Coulson persuaded the Director to let me back. It was horrible, there was no one to talk to except cows and the occasional farmer.” 

“Bored out of your tiny mind.” 

“Hey!” Clint protested, still grinning. Natalia almost smiled back. Almost.

“Well, anyway, Ice Queen,” (she really hoped they weren't staying here long, she might have to accidentally murder him) “It's kinda late and, I dunno about you, but killing nasty bastards makes me tired.” This earned him another eyebrow raise (she was serious now, they were going to get permanently stuck in the middle of her forehead if he didn't stop being such a fucking idiot)

“So,” Clint continued. “you have the bed and I'll take the sofa.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't, Tasha.” (Jesus Christ, was a three syllable name really too much for his tiny brain?) Natalia rolled her eyes at the nickname, but couldn't suppress a slight smile. 

“Thank you.” Barton's grin practically split his face open.

“Ha! You smiled!” This earned him another eye roll, as he walked over to a bag that had been dumped on the sofa. Clint rummaged inside it for a moment, before pulling out a clean t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He proceeded to hand them to her, explaining that they were “For sleeping in, so you're comfortable.” She nodded at him, accepted the clothes, and retreated to the minuscule bathroom to change. 

Looking in the mirror that hung crookedly over the sink, her hair damp from the shower, wearing his t-shirt, Natalia paused for a moment. She'd never liked looking at her reflection, not since she was a child. Maybe it was something to do with the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that had lined the rooms in which she'd learnt both ballet and how to kill someone with her bare hands. That'd make sense. For once, Natalia looked herself right in the eyes.

“I can do this. I can start over and I will.” 

When she returned to the main room of the safe house, it was to find Clint making dinner. Well. He was heating up leftovers. 

“Hey.” He pushed a bowl of food towards her. Natalia glanced up at him, picking up a spoon. 

“Hey.” 

“So,” Clint began, as they sat down at the table. “I can't get hold of my handler until morning, because this mission doesn't have open comms unless I use the emergency channel, which will bring down a SHIELD fast-response team on our asses, and is about the last thing we need right now.” 

“Because they'll kill me.” Clint smirked.

“Aren't you a little ray of sunshine. But, yeah, probably. You've got to get your side of the story over first, so we wait until I get contacted, and you can bowl them all over with your dazzling charm.” Natalia glared at him.

“Very funny, Legolas.” Clint shot her an exaggerated look of surprise.

“Did you just make a joke, Natasha?” She ignored him, steering the subject back to Clint's handler.

“So, we wait here until you get the call?” 

“Yep, so you might want to get some sleep.” He said, carrying his dish to the sink, then pulled a spare duvet and pillow from a drawer under the bed. Dumping these onto the couch, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Natalia to wash up her bowl and sit down on the bed. This gave her an unwelcome opportunity to think about what the hell she was doing. 

“You're taking a chance,” She told herself. “There's red in your ledger. So much fucking red. Maybe this can help wipe it out.”   
So much fucking red. And now there was the hospital fire to add to the list of things she wanted so badly to forget. The children's ward...

No. Shut up. Shut up, shut up shut up. Concentrate on this, On leaving it behind. On the crazy, weird-ass archer in the next room who, for some bat-shit reason, seems to think you're worth a second chance. Just take it and stop fucking talking to yourself.


End file.
